LITTLE SHOFAR (shouting):
OH, BUDDY, I KNOW, I KNOW!
THE BULLETS! THE BONES! THE BANANAS! THE BOAT!
THE ABSENCE BRUSHING
YOUR BODY THROUGH ITS HAIR!
BUT OH, YOU BLEARY AND BRIMMING THING!
BUT OH, YOU BUMBLING, BUMBLING MARVEL!
WHAT IS ALL OF THIS BUT PROOF
THAT ALL OF THIS IS WORKING?
THE CANTOR (singing):
here is the name of the country
that picks your past from its teeth
here at the lip of the knife is the throat
that used to sing you to sleep
here is the part of the story
where slaughter steals your eyes
here is the part of the story
where you must be the lullaby
THE TALLOW MAN (digging in his dirty, dirty ear):
Here’s the thing of it:
Each day I wake up
boil a couple eggs,
& make sure there’s
food in the cat’s bowl.
Some days I take
myself to the movies.
Love that Bogart.
Some days, to look
at the fish. What
do angels know
about this kind
of happiness.
I know when
the baker
pulls the bread
from the oven.
I know where
the swans
will gather.
All the teeth-
marks have
fallen out
of my heart.
Once I went
eight months
without
changing
my sheets.
Some animals
it’s bright colors.
I smell the way
I want to smell.
PANTS (after I tell him of you):
Oh goodness, what a thing, what a thing! I’m thankful we are sitting down!
My knees, they’ve turned to little fogs!
My heart makes the sounds of a night in the swamp! Stars unzipping their dresses!
Toads and their heroic belching! Oh, Friend, I want to know everything!
Don’t tell me more!
I can’t decide!
I want to parade you down Market Street on my shoulders!
What color is her hair – no, no, don’t say!
I’ll imagine a rush of golden moons falling over a freckled shoulder!
I could kiss you! Kissing!
I see it in your future!
Look, here in my cup of coffee!
Of course, the wedding will have to be spectacular!
Processions of geese, clarinets and cellos!
Baskets and baskets of hyacinth petals! What a blessing, what a blessing!
Oh, I hope I’m not getting ahead of myself.
But it is exactly that I must hope!
God bless the keepers of our softest secrets.
Not even my nieces have been to my home.
But the whole world.
The whole! world!
It is scrambling
to be
for you.
Jeremy Radin is a poet and actor living in Los Angeles. His poems have appeared (or are forthcoming) in Winter Tangerine, Cosmonauts Avenue, Union Station, Nailed, Bodega, and others, and his first book, Slow Dance with Sasquatch, is available from Write Bloody Publishing. You may have seen him on It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia or yelling about wolves in like a Jamba Juice or something. Follow him @germyradin